Diaries of the D-Class Personnel
by kronosdragon
Summary: Sometimes, once in a blue moon, a few D-Class Personnel are requested to make log entries about their experiences during their time working for the SCP Foundation. This is a collection of their stories. Various one-shots in a diary-esque format. Rated for some disturbing imagery and language.


Subject: D-88  
SCP Assignment: 015  
Date: [DATA EXPUNGED]

_**Begin Log.**_

**Day 1**

I was supposed to be on death row this week. I'll spare you the gory details. Lucky for me, some cocky scientific types came in and talked to the head of the division, and they let me walk! Well, on one condition, of course. They want to run some sort of tests on me, and they say that after 10 years, I'll be let go to live a normal life. They don't tell you much, they just give you an orange uniform and a number. Mine seems to be D-88. Weird system. I don't know what the D stands for, but it must be the lowest level. The scientists I came in brief contact with had O's or some level between 1 and 5. This place is very cold and strange, and they keep me in a cell with a bed, toilet and padded walls. Nobody comes to bother me, except when they talk to me via the intercom system. They asked me to keep a diary of my experiences, so they can learn more about the tests they're going to run. I don't really like writing, but whatever it takes to keep these scientists off my back.

**Day 5**

They won't tell me the date. I don't really care about it, anyway. That's just one less thing for me to worry about. The scientists sent someone in today to run some kind of neurological test with those little round sensors they stick to your forehead. They said I was normal. A doctor calling himself [DATA EXPUNGED] came in and told me that they were sending me in on a test run through something called SCP-015. I'm not sure what that meant, but he said that any action other than compliance would result in my immediate termination. Whatever job they're having me do must either be really important, or really secretive if they're going to those measures. The doc said I would be working with three other D-Class Personnel, and that any fighting will result in termination. I told him that I couldn't make any promises, and he just gave me this weird, cold look. He must get that all the time.

**Day 8**

They suited me up and escorted me down what felt like miles of stairwells. I didn't think this place was so big. I must have walked down thirty flights before the armed guards directed me onto one of the landings. The floor had a number and two signs pointing in either direction, but I don't remember what they said. The guards moved me too fast to get a good look, and I hate being rushed. I tried to asked them to slow down, but they neither spoke nor even made any attempt to notice I even said anything. What bastards.

So they took me down this hallway, and at the end was a door. They opened it with a keycard and pushed me into a huge room with a concrete box in the middle. It looked like there were some odd pieces sticking out of it, like whatever was inside didn't quite fit and they had to adjust the container. I couldn't believe how big the room was, and the concrete box seemed almost as big. I didn't get to look at it for long, because those pushy guards were leading me toward a group of other people in orange. There was a railing and upper platform above us, where floodlights were focused on the block in the middle of the room. I was placed with the group and the guards that were surrounding us turned and left in formation. An intercom buzzed to life over our heads, sounding like it was coming from everywhere.

"SCP-015, aka 'Nightmare Pipes'. Begin expedition #7."

Nightmare pipes? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Well, I found out when they opened the door containing whatever was inside. All four of us walked in, and the door slammed shut and locked behind us. We had been given cameras with little lights on them so we could see, and I never want to remember what was in there. Unfortunately, I have to, for this stupid diary.

They weren't kidding when they called it "Nightmare Pipes," because the pipes all looked like they were made out of flesh. The whole place smelled like rotting meat and rust, and I swear I saw one of the pipes drip something brown. The other guys all seemed to think the pipes were made out of something else. One guy pointed above us and asked if anyone else thought the pipes were made of bone. One guy said they looked more like wood, and the other thought they were steel. I don't know what they were thinking, but the pipes were obviously made of human entrails. I would know.

The cameras must have had little speakers on them, because we each heard a voice commanding us to start walking. We looked at each other before doing so. I don't know what the big-wigs were expecting, because all that we saw were miles and miles of those disgusting pipes. The walls were covered in them, twisting and bending into weird shapes that couldn't have any real function. Sometimes the flesh-covered valves would hiss at us as we walked by, and we'd all jump like a bunch of pussies. Of course, the place was creepy as hell, so you can't really blame a guy for being a little jumpy. Eventually, we just got used to the sights and smells and just kept walking. It felt like hours, and we eventually had to stop and rest.

"How long do you think they're going to keep us in here?" one of the guys asked.

I told him it couldn't be too long. We'd have to get out eventually. Maybe there was exit somewhere ahead. That seemed to get their spirits going again, and we moved on. However, all that we were met with were more pipes, and a huge boiler room.

"What do you think this place is even for?" another of the guys asked. I looked around at the numbers on their jumpsuits, and took note that they were numbered 87, 89, and 90 respectively. 87 was the guy who seemed to be the jumpiest, and was asking all the questions.

"How should we know? Last I checked, pipes weren't supposed to be made out of wood, so who cares what it all does?" 90 said.

I asked we could just worry about that later, seeming as we should probably keep moving or else we'd get shot. The feeling of a metal grate under my boots was a welcome change from the concrete floor we had been traveling on the whole time. It ended in a staircase that spiraled down to the next floor. I didn't see any lights in the boiler room, but the fleshy boilers themselves seemed to give off an orange-ish glow, and steam seemed to leak out of the tops. I silently hoped that they wouldn't explode on us as we reached the bottom of the stairs. The floor was once again concrete, and I could already feel my feet starting to hurt from the constant abuse, not to mention my boots were slightly too small for my feet and kept rubbing against the back of my ankles, making them raw and sore.

"Hey, maybe we should sit down here for a minute. I don't see any doors or halls in here," 90 said, sitting on the bottom step and taking off his boots.

"What are you doing? What if you step in something?" 89 asked, plopping himself down on the floor.

"Relax, I'm not walking around for a while. These boots are killer."

We sat and talked for a while, and we all seemed to figure out that each of us had been on death row before coming to this place. We talked about how we had all been recruited by those scientists, and all found a mutual hatred for nerds.

"At least we aren't dead," 87 said with a sigh.

"Yeah, 10 years of this and we'll be home-free," said 90, punching his gloved hand into the other. "Then I'll go show those traitors back at HQ what happens when you become a rat."

I asked him if that was what got him here in the first place. He waved it off.

"I don't need any lip from someone who beat their wife, killed her sister and mangled the first cops that showed up at his door."

"Just how the fuck do you know that?" I asked him, my temper flaring.

"I watch the news."

"I'd watch my back if I were you, sport," I grumbled. At that, he got up and got in my face.

"Is that a threat?"

"Could be, wanna make something of it?"

We were about to get into it when we heard a loud bang, and then screaming. We all turned to see the 87 had wandered off and was screaming as a glowing substance was pouring out of a boiler and right onto him.

"What the fuck?!" 90 said, hurriedly putting on his boots and running up the stairs. Another pipe burst overhead, and whatever it was, it was hot as fucking magma. The three of us went running back toward where we came from, and we could hear the pipes around us starting to burst. I watched as one in front of us ruptured, the flesh tearing apart and spewing the molten yellow liquid over 90. I laughed as he screamed, his face and body practically melting under the heat. 89 and I kept running, but the pipes kept bursting. I ducked just in time for one to explode near my head, and I scrambled to keep up with 89. We ran until we reached the exit, which seemed to open of its own accord. We dove for the door and tumbled out, panting and sweating and swearing. The door slammed shut behind us, but we caught a brief glimpse of about four inches of the molten liquid coming straight for us. We sat on the floor for what felt like an age, hearts pounding and legs like fiery jelly. I couldn't bring myself to stand, and I had the sudden urge to use the bathroom. The intercom buzzed overhead again, and the lights on out cameras went out.

"Expedition #7 successful. Return D-Class Personnel to their cells for the requisite exams."

"Like hell if I'm going back in there!"

I watched as 89 tried to make a break for it, and was consequently shot down. It was then that I realized these guys were crazy, but I wanted to live. I thought that maybe I could get through 10 years of this. Maybe.

I sit here now, writing in this god-forsaken book, like it wasn't something that actually happened. Who will really read this? Better yet, who will really believe what I say is true?

**Day 9**

I've taken the tests. They're all very mundane. They ask me how I feel, if I notice anything different in how my body functions, etc. I'm physically fine. They want me to go in again with a new group, to try and figure out just what it was that made those pipes rupture like that. I remember them saying that it was expedition number seven. Were there others that had gone in too? What if I was the first to go in, come out alive, and then get sent in again? What is this place? What are they doing here?

**Day 15**

I can't go back in there. There's no way I'm going back. That place is worse than death. I can't. I won't.

**[SUBJECT TERMINATED FOR INSUBORDINATION]**

_**End Log.**_


End file.
